


just one more time

by interstellarbeams



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 12 Days of Lyatt, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: Wyatt is a soldier in WWII, far from home and mourning the loss of his mother, he never expected to find the love of his life in Lucy, a USO volunteer and singer.





	just one more time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to Lizzie and Gretchen for always being my sounding boards. Y’all are amazing and I love you both! <3
> 
> For 12 Days of Lyatt: Day 2 - Christmas Songs
> 
> Songs featured are _Memories of You_ (composer: Eubie Blake, lyricist: Andy Razaf), _White Christmas_ (composer & lyricist: Irving Berlin) and _The Christmas Waltz_ (composer: Jule Styne, lyricist: Sammy Cahn).

Wyatt’s mood was as dreary as the cold rain that pelted him. The bare trees and mud that surrounded him were as depressing as any cold day in winter, but it was compounded by the loss that he felt…

He had received the letter two weeks ago, the envelope smudged, an edge torn and the ink smeared, as if it was as travel weary and footsore as the many soldiers in the countless troops that surrounded his in the camp. The address read _home_ — his town, his street, his house — but the words that were scrawled across the twice-folded paper inside told of a death that would forever make that home, an unwelcome one. 

His mother, God rest her, had passed after a short illness, with no time to even notify Wyatt of the sickness that had taken her life. His heart had broken at the first and only line:

_Your mama dead and buried.  
Pop_

Tears had immediately rushed to his eyes and he turned his head, unwilling for the Captain or the First Sergeant to see him crying, despite the sympathetic look that they shared. Wyatt’s last connection to home had just been severed and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He hadn’t loved his town or any of the people in it, except for his mother, and now that she was gone he felt like a ship without a rudder. 

The mud beneath his feet sucked at his boots with every footstep, as he followed his fellow servicemen towards the stage that had been set up for the USO performance. It was scheduled to start at 1400, despite the deterioration of the weather over the last few hours. 

The wind whipped through the barren tree limbs and sent a chill down Wyatt’s spine. The military issue jackets they all wore were not quite up to the challenge of the wet, freezing air that seeped into their bones, not unlike the water creeping underneath their tents every time the clouds opened. 

Wyatt stood among the other soldiers, men with fears and pains so similar to his own, calling to mind the camaraderie that he hadn’t felt among men of his own age growing up. He had been poor and from the wrong side of the tracks with a mother who had no family and a father who didn’t care about the reputation he was leaving behind for his son’s legacy. He felt alone, despite the crowd and the warmth that the group evoked as the crowd grew larger, the closer they came to showtime. 

The first act was a comedian, his jokes funny enough to brighten many a man’s face with a smile, despite the unoriginality of the material. The uproarious laughter surrounding Wyatt further exacerbated his sadness, the pain after the loss of his mother weighing him down, like the ever darkening clouds above their heads. 

The stage was slick with rain and despite the circus theme of the second act, the juggler had only signed on to toss a few balls in the air, not to put on a dramatic balancing act as he tried but failed to keep his feet under him. The men laughed at the other man’s misfortune but Wyatt just looked on in sympathy, he felt a strange connection to the man who stumbled off stage, one of his red balls left behind to rest in a freezing puddle.

He hadn’t expected much from the third act either… the rain had picked up and the men shuffled their feet, restless and ready for the hot coffee and doughnuts they had come to expect from the USO. They straightened up quick, as soon as they saw the beautiful young woman step on stage, her bright green dress swaying against her shapely legs, as she walked to the microphone. Many eyes were arrested by the sight of her red lipstick and her bobbing curls but as soon as she opened her mouth and Wyatt heard the first few strains of _Memories of You_ , he was swept back to his Mama’s kitchen in Texas, the sounds of her singing as she washed dishes, filtering out of the screen door and into the yard where he wrestled with the old family dog. 

_Waking skies, at sunrise_  
_Every sunset too_  
_Seems to be, bringing me_  
_Memories of you_

 _Here and there, every where_  
_Scenes that we once knew_  
_And they all, just recall_  
_Memories of you_

_Happy yesteryears  
That have left a rosary of tears_

_Your face beams, in my dreams_  
_In spite of all, that I do_  
_And everything seems to bring_  
_Memories of you_

The troops had seen the likes of Hedy Lamarr and Ginger Rogers at other camps along the way, their beauty and talent unparalleled to the many sad widows they had seen as they passed through shelled towns and small hamlets, their faces hollow and eyes full of unknown horrors. But this woman, with the brunette hair and the enchanting singing voice, was like a breath of fresh spring air, a relic of home… baseball games, hot dogs at the fair and sweet, vanilla ice cream fresh out of the churn.

Wyatt wasn’t surprised to see the men closest to him hang on her every word. A nostalgic memory of summer evenings at home filled his mind’s eye, the setting sun glinting on the river, the croak of happy frogs in the lowlands and the creak of rocking chairs as their inhabitants relaxed in the warmth of the air. 

The light in her eyes and the smile lifting her cheeks was more beautiful to him than her alluring looks. As she left the stage, after a rousing round of applause and wolf whistles that echoed in his ears long after she was gone, he couldn't focus on anything else but the absence of her presence. 

The men trailed back to the tents that had been set up, the mud in some places up to their ankles as the rain continued to mist the area, the water beading up on Wyatt’s jacket and dripping off his sleeves as he rubbed his chilled hands together. A few folding tables were set up in the interior of the mess tent. Rows and rows of bakery boxes full of plain doughnuts sat on one side while the other tables had four large coffee urns lined up across them with tin cups stacked beside them. Wyatt grabbed one as he passed by, following the line of soldiers in front of him as they passed through the queue. 

He barely even noticed the line as it continued on without him after he caught sight of the brown eyed singer behind the nearest table. She smiled politely at every soldier that walked by, dissuading the presumptuous with a toss of her curly head. She smiled at the woman beside her, their words lost to the blood rushing in Wyatt’s head as he looked on.

A gust of wind blew through the tent, sending the napkins that weren’t held down flying out of the tent flap and snatching the silk scarf off of the brunette’s head. It flew across the tent, caught up by the wind before it dropped into the mud near Wyatt’s feet. Wyatt bent to grab it as the woman carefully made her way across the muddy expanse between them. 

She glanced up into his face almost shyly, as she came up to him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I can’t believe it got away from me so quickly.” She dipped her chin and Wyatt was unable to catch her eyes, he couldn’t decide whether she was shy or just uncomfortable. The top of her head was almost on level with his and he found that he liked it a lot, there was nothing worse than having to bend down too far to kiss a girl. _Whoa, where did that come from? You don’t even know this girl’s name yet, jumping the gun a little, aren’t you?_

“These winds are really something,” Wyatt replied, feeling kind of silly, as he handed her the scarf back. _Why couldn’t he say something even remotely interesting? Yes, the wind is blowing, I’m sure she realizes that, idiot_ , Wyatt thought to himself. 

He could feel the countless, curious eyes as they watched him and the singer, standing in the middle of the mess tent, a silk scarf the only thing connecting them. He opened his mouth to speak, started to introduce himself and then stopped when she started to speak instead.

“I’m Lucy Preston,” she put out her hand as it to shake his, like anyone in his troop might in a friendly manner, but she still held the damp, muddy scarf and she immediately switched it to her other hand, a delightful blush coloring her cheeks, “Thank you for rescuing my scarf from that dastardly wind.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” Wyatt smiled, relieved to find that he still held some of his Southern charm despite the many months he had spent abroad with his company.

“And you are?” She smiled at him, one dimple appearing in her cheek and Wyatt was immediately smitten. 

“Wyatt Logan, at your service, ma’am,” Wyatt would have saluted but he found it kind of ridiculous to do so when talking to a woman who wasn’t of rank, no matter how beautiful she was. 

Lucy eyed him, speculatively, as she pulled the scarf repetitively through the loop she made of her fingers. Wyatt found the motion almost mesmerizing and he had to force himself to look away. 

She shook her head, ruefully, and gesturing to the table she had been stationed at, “Well, I better get back to my station and you might want to get back in line if you want coffee. We go through it so quickly.”

“Yes ma’am,” Wyatt nodded his head politely, before watching her go, the black hem of her cardigan sweater lifting in another gust of wind as she to left to stand among the other women.

Wyatt returned to the line that continuously moved through the mess tent, poured his coffee into his tin cup, thankful for the warmth it exuded as he held it. He snagged a doughnut or two and sat down, alongside the long tables that were set up for that purpose.

Wyatt settled onto the freezing metal bench, barely even feeling the cold as he watched Lucy move back and forth across the tent, the gray brown of the mud that covered her slim ankles and the hem of her dress hardly detracting from her beauty. Wyatt figured it was probably a little strange of him to be watching her from afar but he didn’t know what else to do. She was a USO volunteer, she would travel across the continent to perform for thousands of troops and he might never see her again. It felt like an appropriate way to end his day, to find a woman that he could see himself with but only know her name… he would probably never see her again, just like his mama who was gone forever and would never smile at him again, press warm hands to his cheeks and kiss him goodnight. 

Wyatt finished his coffee, the dry doughnuts no longer appealing and he offered them to the man sitting next to him before he got up and left to find his bed. The night was seemingly darker, despite the minute bright moment that he had shared with Lucy Preston. 

 

———

 

A few weeks later, Wyatt found himself back at camp after a push into the nearby countryside had ended at the Sûre River. It’s shores were overflowing from the recent rains as it rushed towards the North Sea and it was currently impassable for the large number of men and supplies that had needed to cross. 

The rain was holding off, for the time being, but Wyatt still felt chilled to the bone from the dampness of his gear, that had been unable to dry because of the constant moisture in the winter air. Straightening his cap, to better shield his eyes from the early morning light that shone through the gaps between the tents and left glowing dots floating before his eyes, he hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder as he stepped around a large puddle.

Wyatt rubbed a hand against his chin, suddenly aware of how unkempt he probably looked with his dark stubble and under eye circles, feeling bone tired from the days of marching to and from the River Sûre. He decided then and there to make some time to shave after reporting to his superior officer. Then, hopefully, he would have some time to rest before the next march wore him down again.

It was a monotonous game of back and forth. Some days they barely moved a mile and on others they marched continuously for hours on end, their backs aching and their feet covered in painful blisters. Wyatt was honored to serve his country, of course and proud to help keep it safe no matter who the enemy was but it definitely took a lot out of him and the men surrounding him. 

Wyatt pulled his razor kit from inside his pack, wondering idly why he carried it everywhere if he wasn’t even going to use it, and removed his razor and shaving mug from the bag. He hung the razor strop from the nearby tent pole, trying to ignore the snoring of the man resting in the cot beside his as he stroked the razor back and forth across the tough leather. Setting the razor aside, he added the cake of soap to the bottom of his shaving mug and lathered it up with a little water and his brush. He spread the lather across the lower half of his face, focusing on his chin and upper lip where the densest hairs grew and moving outwards towards his ears and down to his jawline. He looked into the small mirror’s reflection, trying to avoid looking into his own eyes as he focused on shaving his upper lip. 

A steady hand was required in battleground situations, despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your brain urging you to run, you have to hold steady as you position your gun to take out the enemy that is coming right towards you with your death in their mind. He was thankful for that same steady hand, as he scraped the razor up and over his jaw. 

He finished the job and quickly splashed the cold water on his face to wash away the rest of the soap before he left the tent, bowl in hand, his face tingling from the combination of the shave, dousing of cold water and the winter wind. 

Someone called out behind him and he turned his head, unsure whether he was being summoned or if the person was calling after someone else, but when he turned back around he rammed right into someone, the sudsy water in the basin he held sloshing onto them and causing the person to yelp.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Wyatt reached out to steady the woman who he had run into with one hand on her arm, as he tucked the now empty bowl under his arm, “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Wyatt stepped back, his hand still on her arm, when he realized who it was.

“Ms. Preston, I can’t believe it.” Wyatt smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time in weeks, well since he had last seen her actually. Wyatt felt like his cheeks might crack from the width of his smile and Lucy’s answering smile was even more enchanting in the light of the early morning. 

The tip of her nose was pink from the cold but he found it endearing, almost as fetching as the rosy blush that pinked her cheeks when she caught his admiring glance. Today her curls were held back with a bright, red ribbon, like the type you would see on Christmas presents, and her brown eyes shone with a joyful light. Wyatt was surprised to see such a happy face in such a dreary camp, a sight which regularly pulled down his mood and tried to sink it like a ship on the losing end of a naval battle. It was nice to forget about the horror of the war and the constant nagging of his weary body aches and pains, for a moment and get lost in her warm coffee eyes. 

Wyatt scratched the back of his neck, realizing that he had been staring and the silence had dragged on longer than he intended. He blanched when he noticed the large, dark water stain that now graced the front of her blouse. 

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a way to help dry the stain, besides inviting her into his tent and offering his one spare shirt but he was afraid that was too forward, no matter how appealing the thought.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Accidents happen. I have another blouse ack in my tent I can change into,” Lucy pressed her lips together, like she was afraid she had been too forward by mentioning changing clothes. Wyatt didn’t care what she said, she could read the list of enlisted men in the entirety of the Army and he would listen to it enraptured. Her voice had a lovely tone and a quiet raspiness, perhaps from the constant singing, or maybe she had a cold. He really hoped not, a cold could turn into pneumonia quickly out here in the French countryside and there was never a guarantee you would survive it. Pulling his thoughts back from the morbid track that he had let them race down, he struggled to find something to say to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life once again.

Wyatt cleared his throat, “What brings you here?” He finally managed to get out, kicking himself for how ridiculous he sounded. _You know what she’s doing here, idiot._

“Oh, well,” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. One of her slim wrists was encircled by a dainty gold watch, the face reflecting the sunlight, “I’m here with the USO, it wasn’t really my first plan when I graduated… I actually wanted to continue my education by enrolling at UCLA. It was what my mother wanted actually, to catch a husband, she said, but when the war broke out and I heard that they were looking for performers to lift the troops spirits, I went and signed up. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.” 

“I can imagine. What with enlisting, basic training and shipping out all happening within a few months and then the endless marching and campaigning with little sleep in between, I kinda feel like I’ve been through a twister myself.” 

“That’s gotta be tough.” Lucy shifted her weight, dropping her arms, to tuck her hands into her pants pockets, “It’s definitely different than you imagine when you sign up. All the pomp and circumstance is blown away on a idealistic wind and you realize just how naive you are about so many things. I only turned 19 the week before I volunteered, everything about life seems new when you are experiencing it for the first time, even the ugly things.” 

“I know what you mean,” Wyatt waivered on whether to tell this woman who he barely knew about the recent loss of his mother. He felt she would understand maybe even offer words of sympathy but was it really fair to put his burdens on her shoulders… he didn’t think so. 

The squish of another soldier walking by dragged Wyatt out of his thoughts and away from the sight of the beautiful woman in front of him. Realizing that he had probably spent too much time standing there with her already he started to make an excuse to leave even though he didn’t want to leave the pleasure of her company.

“Did you hear about the dance we’ll be holding in a few nights? All us girls are going to get dolled up, well as dolled up as you can get in an army camp, and dance the night away.” Lucy smiled, one dimple appearing in her cheek.

Wyatt glanced down at her small feet, encased in rather manly boots and smirked. 

“I don’t know who I should feel more worried for, you and your feet or the many soldiers who will get their hearts broken when you turn them down.”

“How do you know I would turn them down? Maybe I’ll meet a perfect gentleman who will carry me away to his tent,” Lucy’s eyes glittered with amusement and Wyatt couldn’t help but grin back. 

“I thought fraternization wasn’t allowed among the volunteers and the soldiers,” Wyatt shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the curious glance of an aide as he picked his way around the puddle in the middle of the muddy rut that was the alleyway between the sleeping tents and the command tents.

“It’s certainly not encouraged,” Lucy’s eyes softened as she glanced up into his face, “but with so many volunteers, it gets ignored more often than not.” 

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t mind breaking the rules?” Wyatt felt hope building up in his chest and he prayed that she would say yes so he could hold onto that feeling for a just a moment longer.

“I might make an exception for you, Wyatt Logan.” A slow smile curled the corner of her lips and Wyatt felt a unusual sense of excitement building in his chest as a errant thought floated through his head about how her lips might taste, right at the corner where they met. 

She turned her head, her hair bobbing against her neck when she caught a glimpse of a senior USO member whose face immediately turned disapproving on sight of Wyatt. Quickly making an excuse, she waved a goodbye, her red hair ribbon slipping off her head as she ran off. Wyatt shook his head as he turned to go back into his tent, a sudden fondness clutching at his heart with tenacious fingers.

———

 

The night of the dance Wyatt made sure to wear his cleanest, least wrinkled shirt the insignia on his collar points, gleaming softly in the tent’s lantern light as he ran a comb through his hair in front of the mirror. It felt weird to suddenly be so concerned about his looks, ever since his mother’s death he hadn’t cared much for how he looked or whether he was shaved, washed or neat… besides the times when he had been amongst his superiors, he didn’t want to be court martialed for slovenliness. 

Finally feeling like he was as presentable as possible he left the tent and walked the thankfully dry track that led through the camp to the large tent where the dance was being held. He ducked his head as he entered, the looped over tent walls glancing against his cap and he straightened it as he stepped onto the parquet floor that had been set up for the dancing. 

The soft strains of the musicians tune floated through the air like the snow flurries that were bound to show up any day now. 

It was hard for Wyatt to believe that it was already almost Christmas time. His family never had much to spend in the way of gifts or even special holiday meals but his mother always read him the story of _The Night Before Christmas_ , on Christmas Eve, mimicking the sounds of the reindeer landing on the roof and Santa Claus’s traditional _Ho Ho Ho_ , making younger him giggle and cheer with excitement. The familiar scent of butter and sugar clung to her, as she gave him one last kiss before bed. Her hands caressing his cheeks had been scented with cinnamon from the special apple pie she was baking to go with their Christmas supper. 

Wyatt felt a sudden loss at the thought of never tasting that pie again or feeling that comforting embrace around him. He ducked behind a group of rowdier men who seemed to have already spiked the punch, to stand near the back of the tent. He glanced around the interior at the various groups of people hanging around waiting for the dancing to start, in search of a brown-haired ray of sunshine. 

A loud bubble of laughter burst nearby and Wyatt turned his head, the sharp pine scent of the garland’s strung on the refreshment tables tickling his nose, as he finally caught a glimpse of Lucy. The multiple girls standing around her faded into the background, the colorful dresses they wore paling in comparison, like a towel left out on the clothesline, in the sun, too long. 

The moment she noticed him, her face that had been suffused with laughter, softened and her smile, well, he liked to imagine, it was only for him. 

They made their way towards each other, Lucy excusing herself from her group of friends and Wyatt dodging the flying hands of a talkative private, before they were face to face once more. 

He stared at her, dumbstruck. She was so beautiful, even more so than the first time he had seen her. Her usual bouncing curls were pinned up, her slim neck was graced by a strand of yellowing pearls — perhaps a grandmother’s — and her navy blue dress with polka dots, swirled around her ankles with every step. 

Wyatt glanced down at her feet, her shoes a beautiful red that contrasted against the glow of the parquet floor. 

Lucy smirked at him, her red painted lips still sweet despite the devilish grin she shot at him. 

“Wow, you— you look amazing.” Wyatt’s words came out softer than he had meant, more of a breath that an exclamation although his heart raced as if he had just run the three miles it took to circle the  
camp's perimeter. 

“Well, I had to get all dolled up for my—“ she put a hand against her mouth, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too close attention to them, “ _date_.” 

“Well, I would say your mission was a success,” Wyatt smiled down at her, wishing he could touch her in some way but with the chaperones staring them down he decided he would have to wait until they were out on the dance floor.

Lucy bit her lip before she turned to face the middle of the tent, Wyatt moved to follow her, barely brushing his shoulder against hers when the slightly spicy scent of her perfume aroused his senses. His thoughts went into overdrive and he cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her. 

“Do you have any Christmas traditions at home, Wyatt Logan?” Lucy asked, glancing over at him with a teasing twinkle in her eye.

“You can call me Wyatt ma’am, just Wyatt.” 

“Are you sure, Mr. Logan, that that wouldn’t be too forward of me?” She fiddled with the necklace around her neck, her fingernails matched the red ornaments that adorned the festive garlands that decorated the tent, lending it a festive air that the outside world didn’t offer.

“Pretty damn sure, Ms. Preston,” Wyatt crooked an eyebrow at her innocent smile, a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the crowded room taking over his chest. 

“Well, _Wyatt_ , then how about we share this first dance.” Lucy offered him her hand. The slimness of her fingers slid along his palm with the lightest touch, sending a spark through him. 

“That’s fine by me, ma’am,” Wyatt smiled over at her before he led her to the floor, following the other pairs as they stepped through the crowd of men who had yet to find a partner. There were only a few women — the senior hostesses and the junior hostesses intermingling on the dance floor — the only similarity between the two different pairings were the same excited smiles on the soldier’s faces. 

Wyatt pulled his attention away from his surroundings and back on to Lucy, who’s hand still rested in his, her small palm  
warm against the largeness of his own. Her dress was soft underneath his hand and the skin underneath it softer still or at least that was how he imagined it to be, the softness of her hand leading to his mind’s wandering to other, more intimate parts. 

“Have you ever waltzed before, Wyatt?” Lucy asked, her brown eyes even more beautiful up close under the soft lights. 

“Once or twice, ma’am,” Wyatt smiled down at her.

“Now, Wyatt, if I’m to call you by your first name the least you could do is call me by mine,” Lucy scolded him, a teasing grin lifting the corner of her mouth where a dimple appeared. 

“I’ll try my best, ma’am,” Wyatt replied, amused by her exasperated look that turned fond, when he smiled back.

“If you continue to tease me I’ll have to go find another partner.” She pretended to pull away, but Wyatt pulled her back in, his fingers against her waist tight with desperation despite the fact that he knew she had been joking. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t plan on letting her go anytime soon but he was afraid that it might be too soon to say it. 

“Don’t let it be too soon,” He finally muttered, as he turned them to the sound of the music. 

“Don’t let _what_ be too soon?” Lucy asked, a confused frown forming as she looked up at him.

“This song…” Wyatt trailed off, admiring the curve of her lips, the graceful arch of her eyebrows and the smoothness of her skin, “I don’t want it to end too soon, because then I’ll have to let you go.” 

Wyatt glanced away, afraid she might laugh at him or think he was being too serious about a barely there relationship.

“Wyatt?” Lucy’s quiet voice reached his ears and he brought his gaze back to hers.

He hummed an answer, the seriousness of the moment suddenly hitting him as their eyes met and held. 

“I don’t want it to end either.” She admitted, her eyelashes fluttered to rest against the curve of her cheek.

Wyatt reluctantly stepped away, when their song came to an end. Lucy was already surrounded by the time he came to the lunch bowl and turned around. Her face was bright and animated as she danced with her next partner, Wyatt who was watching them dance the whole time, couldn’t have said whether the man had brown or blond hair, all the men were an intermediate blur to his eye when Lucy was standing there.

He took a sip of his punch, trying to ignore the sharp bite to the reddish liquid that had already been spiked, just as he ignored the slight pinch of jealousy he felt every time another man took Lucy’s hand in his and pressed a hand to her waist. Wyatt knew he had no right to feel jealousy but that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway. He wanted to be the one she smiled up at, the one who’s words she hung on, the one who lifted her spirits with just a word from his lips. 

_What had come over him to make him feel this way?_ He barely knew her and had only made her acquaintance about a month ago. With only one meeting since, the kind of hold that she had on him was an once frightening and exhilarating.

When it seemed like the night would never end and his feet ached from standing so long in the one spot, Wyatt set his cup down carefully before crossing the crowded floor to her side. Putting his back to another persistent serviceman, who have him a rather dirty look, he took her hand, relieved to see a welcoming smile cross her face as he led her into the next dance. 

“I couldn’t take it any longer,” He let himself admit, as he tightened his hand on her waist and pulled her in, impossibly close.

Lucy’s cheeks were flushed from the dancing and the heat of the many bodies in the tent. Wyatt kicked himself for not thinking to bring her to the punch bowl for some refreshments but when he offered she shook her head and said she was fine. She shocked him when she laid her head against his shoulder as the band played a slow, romantic tune. 

“You know, if I wasn’t so tired, I would sing to you,” Lucy snuggled closer, her voice muffled by his shirt. Wyatt was surprised that the chaperones hadn’t already come over and reprimand them both for unacceptable behavior. The fact that the punch was spiked, probably had a lot to do with it.

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_Just like the ones I used to know_  
_Where the treetops glisten and children listen_  
_To hear sleigh bells in the snow_

 

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_Just like the ones I used to know_  
_Where the treetops glisten and children listen_  
_To hear sleigh bells in the snow_

 

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_With every Christmas card I write_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_

 

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,_  
_Just like the ones I used to know_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_

 

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,_  
_With every Christmas card I write_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_

 

The last strains of the beautiful song started to fade as couples walked arm and arm away from the dance floor. Instead of music, the air was filled with the sound of a hundred conversations, their voices rising to a crescendo and Wyatt couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to talk to Lucy, someplace quiet, someplace private...well, more private than this.

He grabbed ahold of Lucy’s hand and ignoring the small group of men that were clambering for the next dance, he pulled her behind him until they were outside in the winter air. 

The sky was dark but filled with the beauty of millions of celestial bodies, each tiny pinpoint a bright moment in the galaxy. It was stunning but Wyatt’s attention was pulled from the beauty of the sky back to his partner. 

“I’m sorry, the noise, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I understand. Sometimes it just gets too much. Sensory overload, I think it’s called.” Lucy glanced around, her frank gaze settling on two shadows in the shelter of the nearby tent. Wyatt looked away, his ears burning, the sight of them together sending a dangerous thought into his own mind about doing the same thing with Lucy under the cover of darkness.

Wyatt cleared his throat, turning to face Lucy and in turn, putting the other “canoodling” couple out of sight although Wyatt knew that it was definitely not out of his mind.

“I just wanted to be with you in private, away from all the noise and the,” Wyatt chuckled to himself, “rowdy drunks. I swear that punch was spiked.”

“Really?” Lucy turned her head, to glance back at the tent where the dancers still twirled around the floor and the drinks still flowed, her gaze curious, and a thought clicked in Wyatt’s brain.

“You’ve never had alcohol before, have you?” Wyatt grinned when he noticed her blush, as she snatched her head back to look at him. 

“You must have been a goody two shoes growing up…” Wyatt trailed off when he realized he had probably offended her, he really didn’t know her that well after all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Lucy stopped his apology abruptly with a raised hand, “It was my mother, at first. She wouldn’t let me drink even after I left school and I never was brave enough to sneak out to attend the parties that my younger sister would prattle on and on about the next day. By the time I got up the nerve everyone who was fun at those parties was signing up to fight, marrying off to their sweethearts and then I volunteered for the USO. So _no_ , I’ve never tasted alcohol.”

“Wait right here,” Wyatt ran off quickly. He returned with two cups and handed her one.

“What is it?” Lucy peered into the paper cup but in the darkness she couldn’t see what was inside.

“It’s eggnog,” Wyatt held up his cup and she followed suit, clinking her cup against his as if they held fine champagne flutes instead of paper cups. 

“ _Eggnog?_ ” Lucy looked wary and Wyatt didn’t blame her, eggnog wasn’t everyone’s favorite but it had been closer than the punch on the other table so he had grabbed it quickly, running the risk of being caught when he left the tent for a second time. 

“Try it,” Wyatt encouraged her, before he took a sip of his.

Lucy looked concerned for a moment more before she drank it down, a grimace appearing on her face when she tilted her head back.

“No good?” He asked, laughter leaking into his voice, when she stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“That’s disgusting. How do people drink this?” She handed him the paper cup, as if offended by the very presence of the cup that had held the beverage.

Wyatt shrugged before swallowing the rest of his, used to the spicy yet eggy flavor from tastes of the holiday drink over the years. 

“I used to sneak eggnog out of the fridge growing up. It was my dad’s drink of choice at the holidays because he could put as much rum as he wanted in it but it was still considered acceptable,” Wyatt admitted, fiddling with the paper cup in his hands.

Lucy reached out a hand and placed it over his on the cup. Wyatt looked up. Her brown eyes weren’t easy to see in the dark of night but the softness of her hand and the closeness of her body distracted him from the fact that he couldn’t see her well.

The moment earlier flashed in his head, the pair in the shadows kissing, and Wyatt couldn’t get that thought out of his head. 

“Well, soldier, I hope you didn’t drag me all the way out here just to stare at me. A girl has certain expectations when she’s taken out of view of the chaperones.”

“I thought you didn’t attend parties. How would you know what people do without their chaperones?” Wyatt teased, dropping the paper cup to the ground beside his foot before moving closer.

“I’ll have you know that my mother is a very devoted chaperone.” Lucy started to continue but Wyatt threw caution to the wind. If a pretty girl wanted him to kiss her then he would kiss her and make it worth her while.

She made a little _oomf_ sound when he pulled her in, a hand on the back of her neck and one at her waist. Despite the darkness, he could feel how close she was although the softness under his lips was a little too firm to be her lips. He made a quick correction, assuming he had hit her chin, as she huffed out a nervous laugh before their lips actually met and it was even better than he could have imagined. 

The temperature of the night had dropped, considerably since the beginning of the dance, but her body was warm against his and her mouth warmer still. He shifted closer, the toes of his shoes resting against hers but the closeness wasn’t close enough so he wrapped both arms around her, drawing her up against him as he drank her in. 

The subtle taste of nutmeg, from the eggnog she had just had, still lingered on her lips and the slight spice added to the heat that was crawling up the back of his neck, the fire building between them enough to chase the winter chill away.

A shout coming from nearby broke them out of the moment. They jumped apart like they had just been caught before they realized it was a few, rowdy servicemen who broke into drunken laughter as they strolled by. Wyatt pushed Lucy behind him, unsure whether the men were drunk enough to try anything but they walked on by, barely sparing them a glance. 

Lucy giggled quietly, her hand resting lightly on his back and Wyatt turned back around quickly, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tightly to him. The giddiness of the moment, filling him with nervous energy, as Lucy’s perfume surrounded him.

She pulled back after a few moments, her breath frosting the air in front of her as she rubbed a finger against the corner of her lips. Wyatt couldn’t see her too well but he figured she was worried about the red lipstick she had been wearing earlier. 

“What are you staring at now, Wyatt Logan?” 

“Nothing,” Wyatt turned his head, acting like he hadn’t been watching her just a moment ago. 

Lucy gave him a disbelieving look but let it go. Drawing closer she slipped a hand through the loop that he made of his arm, with his hands shoved in his pockets. She rested her head against his arm, sighing happily, or at least Wyatt hoped so. The Christmas music still drifted out of the tent and the starlit sky was made even brighter by the moonlight streaming down from up above. 

“I know I haven’t been to many parties but I think this one has been my favorite,” Lucy smiled up at him as she squeezed his arm with one small hand. 

“I’m glad, Lucy… I just wanted to tell you that I’m not in this for the kissing in darkened corners, although that is definitely a perk,” Wyatt chuckled under his breath, “or for the thrill of ‘breaking the rules’ by fraternizing with a USO volunteer. I felt a connection to you as soon as I heard you singing ‘ _Memories of You_.’ 

Wyatt paused for a moment, the freshness of his mother’s death bringing all his feelings of loss and pain rushing back. He was thankful for Lucy’s quiet attentiveness and that she wasn’t one of those women who talked just to hear their own voice. Wyatt swallowed down the lump in his throat and turned his eyes back to her.

“I haven’t really told anyone except my SO about my mother’s death, but when you sang that song, it reminded me of all the good times I had with her. I hope you don’t think that’s strange.”

“No, not at all. You can’t control what memories come to your mind and I’m glad it was a nice memory. And I— I, well, I didn’t know who you were when I was singing that song, all I see is a sea of faces from that stage but when we met in the mess tent. I definitely felt a connection, a spark, I guess when I met your eyes,” Lucy turned to him and pressed a cold hand to his cheek, “I wish I could see them now.” 

“That will be hard for me to remedy.” Wyatt smiled, before grabbing her cold hand in his warmer ones and chaffing it between his own. The unexpected feelings of protectiveness and rightness as he held her hand between his, surprise him with its voracity.

“This may seem silly but I don’t know, I feel like I see home when I look at you.”

“Oh, Wyatt,” Lucy’s voice turned watery, and she lifted her free hand to wipe at her face, “Do you really mean it?” 

“Of course,” Wyatt hoped fervently that she felt the same way and he was taken by surprise when she suddenly launched herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and Wyatt couldn’t do anything but wrap his around her, as happy laughter filled his ears.

She pulled back after a moment and kissed him. The tip of her nose was cold against his own but he didn’t care, the happiness flooding his system and the sensation of her lips on his, was pushing all his other senses to the back burner. 

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a few more moments until Lucy gasped, glancing up into the dark sky where white flakes of snow could be seen floating down. Wyatt felt the cold sting as it hit his cheeks, loosening his arms as Lucy pulled back to stare up into the sky, enraptured.

“You’ve never seen snow, have you?” Wyatt asked, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her curls brushed against his cheek, the softness an interesting contrast to the cold, ice crystals that were starting to fall at an even faster rate. 

“Oh? No, I never have!” Lucy exclaimed, as she lifted her bare hands to let the snowflakes land on them.

“Come on,” Wyatt offered Lucy his hand and she grabbed it, the iciness of her palm from the snow flurries like a shock to his system. He led her as they went running off, happy laughter following behind them as the snow continued to fall and the stars continued to shine.

 

———

Wyatt paced the empty tent, the wind sending the tent opening and its sides flapping with a noise that sounded like the flapping of giant wings. He rubbed a hand against his chin as he thought, before dropping his hand back down to rest at his waist as he changed directions.

His thoughts weren’t on the cold or even on the next scouting mission but on the pretty brunette singer that he couldn’t forget, even if he tried. 

Not that he wanted to forget her. She was the one bright spot in his life and in this horrible, never ending war. He couldn’t let her go and he didn’t want to watch her leave today after her last performance, to travel on to the next stop on the tour, without him. 

He hadn’t slept much the night before because of the constant swirling of his thoughts and the nonstop ‘what if’s’ that filled his mind. He had been so distracted at mess that he had eaten all of his food and then sat there at the table staring off into the distance. His SO had had to shout, rather loudly right in his ear, before he had been broken out of his Lucy stupor and hopped up to get to his duties.

Now it was after lunch and his thoughts still wouldn’t let him rest. He didn’t know what to do or where to turn, he just knew that he couldn’t let Lucy walk away for him to never see her again. For all he knew she could be killed while out touring closer to the battle lines and he would never hear a thing. He just couldn’t figure out how he could make it so he _could_ find out something.

He kicked at the leg of a nearby cot, aggravation and his sleepless night getting to him and causing him to lash out. Sighing, he dropped down onto his cot and started gathering his shaving kit together, the various pieces had been dumped into his duffle after that morning’s hasty exit to head to breakfast after he had been caught daydreaming again. 

Stowing the brush in his shaving mug and wrapping the cake of soap in a spare piece of linen, he picked up the bottle of Old Spice aftershave when the heavy ceramic bottle slipped out of his hand and landed on his foot. 

“Damn it,” Wyatt swore as he bent over, to pick it up. He eyed the bottle for a moment, noticing the metal ring that rested on the bottle’s beck was cocked sideways and not straight like it had been before. 

He pulled it off, wondering what the purpose of the stupid thing was anyways when something clicked. _A ring, of course!_ There was nothing more important or lasting than a legally binding tie through marriage. That wouldn’t protect her from his current worry, that she would be leaving him, but at least if he was her husband he would be informed if something happened to her, God forbid.

Wyatt turned the idea over and over in his mind, weighing the pros and the cons before he got lost in a another daydream, this time about Lucy as his wife… them sharing a home, a bed, children someday maybe a family dog and lots and lots of laughter. He was startled out of his musing by the trumpet’s reverie and jumped up, the metal ring clutched tight in his hand. She was about to step up into the stage again and he wouldn’t have a chance to speak to her afterwards. 

Snatching up his cap, he raced out of the tent flap, headed for the open clearing where she would sing for the last time. He _had_ to find her. 

He arrived out of breath, his breath ghosting in front of him, his lungs burning from inhaling the freezing air. He made sure his cap was on correctly and pulled at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves to straighten them before he stepped closer to the stage where the group was doing a quick warm up. Lucy was off to the side, talking with one of the dancers, her skirts blowing in the wind. The pale blue color reminded him of the moonlight on the snow the other night when they had tossed handfuls of snow at each other, their hands freezing and their cheeks stinging

“Lucy!” He called, when she turned to walk away, not having seen him.

She turned around immediately, a bright red, knit scarf wrapped around her neck, the ends trailing to her waist. Her face broke into a huge smile when she caught sight of him and Wyatt felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. That smile was only for him and he was the luckiest man in the regiment to have it directed at him.

He came to the edge of the stage and grasped her by the waist, helping her to jump down from the height before he pulled her around the corner.

She looked up at him expectantly and Wyatt swallowed hard, realizing suddenly that he shouldn’t have acted so quickly because he had no clue what to say to her or how to propose marriage except that he was supposed to get down on one knee. 

“What is it, Wyatt?” She finally asked, when he didn’t speak, her brow furrowed in concern instead of the happy smile she has exhibited earlier. 

“I’m sorry to pull you away from your practice.” Wyatt glanced back toward the stage where big band music continued to blare despite Lucy’s absence. 

“It’s alright. What’s wrong?” Lucy lifted a hand and placed it on his arm.

“I just— I had to come see you. I know you’re leaving tonight and I didn’t— I _can’t_ say goodbye. Not yet. You might be replaceable to them,” Wyatt gestured toward the practice that was going on without her, “but you’re irreplaceable to me.”

“I know we just met and we haven’t even known each other very long but… if you agree to become my wife, I would love to be able to get to know you, like no one else ever will.”

Lucy looked shocked for a moment and Wyatt was afraid he had rushed her. He went to pull away but she grabbed onto his hand and pulled him back to her.

“You want to marry _me_? Why?” She asked.

“Why? Because I love you. I don’t want to go on living wondering whether I will ever see you again. If we’re married, we will be binded to each other and I can call you mine.” 

Lucy looked into his eyes, and Wyatt wasn’t sure what she was looking for as she searched them. What he saw in hers, was beauty and grace, sweetness and kindness and a love that he had only ever experienced once in his life. He saw home and he wanted that more than anything else. To belong, to have a place — not just a house with a roof and a door — but a person he could always feel at home with, whether on a battlefield or in a music hall, at his home in West Texas or hers in California.

“Are you sure?” She asked, a small frown appearing between her eyebrows and Wyatt bent to press his lips to it.

“Absolutely sure,” He answered when he pulled back, relieved to see a beautiful smile lighting up her face.

Wyatt’s hand hurt from how tightly he was clenching the ring and he finally let it go and dropped it to his opposite hand. He knelt down, the icy slush from the recent snowstorm cold and damp against one knee, and he held up the metal ring from the Old Spice bottle. 

“I know it’s not the traditional engagement ring but it was all I could find on short notice,” Wyatt laughed, nervously, his throat tight from tension as he lifted Lucy’s left hand in his.

Lucy shifted her weight as she looked down at him, happy tears slowly dripped down her face and she wiped at them with her free hand.

“Lucy Preston, will you marry me?” He finally managed to spit it out despite the nervousness clutching at him. He didn’t doubt her, would never doubt her, but he doubted whether he was deserving of her.

She nodded her head fiercely and he wiggled the metal ring up and over her knuckle, before standing to his feet and slipping his hands past her curls to cup her smiling cheeks. “I’ll get you a better ring, I promise.”

“I don’t care what it looks like as long as you’re my husband.”

Wyatt grinned down at her, unable to believe just how lucky he was, this kind and beautiful woman who stood in front of him was going to be _his_ wife. He felt like the luckiest man in the world, or at least, in the camp at that exact moment.

Lucy’s smile was bright, if a little shy as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. His lips were chapped from the bitter cold and hers were cold under his but that kiss couldn’t have been more perfect as they sealed the pact that they were making. 

They pulled apart, resting their foreheads against each other’s. “What do we do now?” Lucy asked, as she pushed her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

“I’m pretty sure you have to sing now, ma’am,” Wyatt teased, laughing at Lucy’s panicked face. She tried to pull away, to run back to the stage and her performance but Wyatt pulled her back, kissing her fiercely and proudly before he let her go. She ran off, lifting her skirt above the mud and the melting slush as she picked her way back to the stage and her last song. 

Wyatt walked back towards the front of the stage, following the path that Lucy had taken to stand in the front of the large crowd that had formed once again to see the USO performers. 

The comedian told the same tired jokes from the first night that Wyatt had seen him, but Wyatt couldn’t help but laugh at the cheesy jokes, the laughter coming out of him naturally. 

Next was the juggler, who wowed the crowd as he kept six balls in the air without dropping any. 

Wyatt cheered the loudest and longest when Lucy appeared on the stage. She walked up to the mic and smiled at the crowd. Wyatt watched her closely, the sight of her engagement ring filling him with pride before he caught her wink, as the crowd quieted to wait for her to speak. 

“How’s everyone doing?” She asked, miming a surprised face when she got a huge roar in return, “I’m guessing that means you’re all well.” 

Lucy laughed when they continued to cheer and whistle at her. Wyatt shook his head, amused at how easily she excited the crowd. “Well, I just want to wish everyone of you, out there, a Merry Christmas _and_ a Happy New Year. This next song is very special to me and this year, even more so. Enjoy.”

She looked down at her feet as the music started up. She wrapped her hands around the mic stand, the metal ring standing out against her small, pale finger. Her nails were painted a festive red that matched her scarf and her curls blew in the wind as she opened her mouth to sing the first verse.

 _Frosted windowpanes_  
Candles gleaming inside  
Painted candy canes on the tree

 

 _Santa's on his way_  
_He's filled his sleigh with things_  
_Things for you and for me_

 

 _It's that time of year_  
_When the world falls in love_  
_Every song you hear seems to say_  
_"Merry Christmas_  
_May your new year's dreams come true"_

 

 _And this song of mine_  
_In three-quarter time_  
_Wishes you and yours_  
_The same thing, too_

 

 _It's that time of year_  
_When the world falls in love_  
_Every song you hear_  
_Seems to say_  
_"Merry Christmas_  
_May your new year's dreams come true"_

 

 _And this song of mine_  
_In three-quarter time_  
_Wishes you and yours_  
_The same thing, too_


End file.
